Old Friends, New Family
by SpiritAnimal99
Summary: When Porthos is kidnapped the musketeers are in a race against time to find their friend before it's to late. Will they make it in time or will Porthos' past finally catch up to him?
1. Chapter 1

Porthos

The night was cold when Aramis and I finally left the tavern. A thick of fog had fallen over the streets of Paris and a bitter wind caused me to shiver slightly.

'Not scared are you brother?' said Aramis teasingly, a grin plastered across his face. 'No' I huffed as I wrapped my cloak around tighter 'Just cold' I grinned 'but not as cold as you, look at you, you're shaking like a leaf'.

' That's only because I haven't got your layers of walrus fat' he spluttered, laughing so hard he had to prop himself up against the wall. I let out a menacing growl and grabbed him into a breath- taking bear hug. Aramis squirmed in my grasp but I tightened my grip. 'Say you're sorry', I growl.

'Ok' he gasped, 'ok I'm sorry, now put me down you big oaf'. I released him and he fell on his knees, taking in great gulps of air. Feeling a guilty I knelt down to help him up, then suddenly he grabbed a handful of snow and thrust it into my face. I fell backwards, trying to brush the cold snow of my face. Across from me Aramis is trying to suppress a snigger, but when he saw my face his expression changed abruptly, fearful that he may have gone to far.

I glare at him but after a minute I forgive him and grin at him. As if on signal we both start laughing and get to our feet. 'Now that was a dirty trick' I laugh, 'well I have learnt from the best' he smirks. 'Come on, it's getting late and Athos will not be happy if we're late for the parade tomorrow'. 'And I don't think the Captain will be to happy either'. I reply, drawing my companion close as we started to make our way back to the garrison.

Aramis

It was good to see my friend smiling again. It had been a good night; we had been celebrating D'Artagnan's commission to the musketeers but Porthos hadn't seemed to be enjoying himself, he had spent most the night sat frowning, nursing his drink and looking at something that we could not see. Whenever we had tried to approach him about him about it, he had just shrugged us off. It wasn't until Athos and D'Artagnan had left and the drink was finally getting to him that he had revealed to me what was troubling him.

It was Alice, the candle-maker's widow. Porthos told me that he had really fallen for her. Guiltily, he told me that he had been really considering leaving the musketeers for her. I tried to tell him that even if he had left, I would have still been there for him and if that was the cause for his sullenness then he could forget about it. Something in Porthos' eyes told me this was not the true cause for his sadness. Taking a deep breath he told me that now that Alice had gone he felt empty, like something of himself had left with her.

I told him I knew how he felt, when Adele had left I had felt hollow, a gap that was hard to fill. Then he looked at me with his desperate brown eyes and asked 'How did you fill it?'. Grinning I replied, 'With booze and women!'. Porthos looked blank for a minute then he laughed, a deep booming laugh and quickly downed the rest of his drink before pouring me and himself another. 'To booze and women then!' he toasted and we then spent the rest of the night laughing and drinking.

Now as we came to the road that split leading to each of our different parts of the garrison, I smiled as Porthos' booming laugh echoed around the silent streets of Paris as we joked and teased each other, enjoying one another's company.

'Well, Porthos, my old friend I am afraid I must bid you adieu'. I hold on to my hat and bow to my friend. 'Oh monsieur Aramis, must you leave me so soon?' replied my friend, removing his hat and attempting to curtsy. 'Oh yes Mademoiselle, I am afraid some of us need our beauty sleep' I reply with a smile. 'Now farewell and good night Porthos'. 'Night 'Mis' he answered as he turned right and headed down his street. I smiled as I watched him go and turned left down my street towards my home and bed. 


	2. Chapter 2

Porthos

I whistled as I walked along the street, enjoying the feel of the snow under my feet. I thought to myself how beautiful and quiet Paris is at night, the street shining as the snow reflects the moon's silvery light. It made me wonder how so much poverty; death and disease can thrive in such a wonderful place. I shook my head, living in the court, always running or hiding, I never got the chance to take my time to look around me and see the beauty and serenity of Paris at night.

Suddenly I felt my body tense, my childhood instincts coming back to me. As I turned the corner, I saw an apparently abandoned cart with two horses attached blocking my path. I felt my hand slowing moving towards my sword and dagger that are hanging at my waist. As I slowly edge my way forward, I scanned my surroundings; I notice shadows shifting in some of the alleyways connecting to the street. Then out the alley closest to me a man, face covered by a hood, ran at me, sword waving.

Quickly I throw my dagger and watch as it imbedded itself in his chest. Next I turned to face another who was attempting to get at me from behind. I swung my blade and quickly dispatched him. Suddenly men, all masked, are pouring out from the other alleys and rushing towards me. I pulled out my musket and watched as another falls while I ducked to avoid a blade that swung through the air where my head had been a second before. I sliced quickly at my assailant's legs but don't stop to watch him fall as I roll away and tackled another to the ground, knocking him unconscious.

Jumping quickly to my feet I block another blade before kicking the attacker hard in the stomach, knocking the breath from him. I could feel the adrenaline running through me like a raging fire but at the same time I felt exhaustion creeping into my bones as I blocked and parried again and again. There seemed to be an endless flow of attackers, I would cut one down and another would rise to take its place. I had lost my sword a while go and was now resorting to my favourite kind of combat. Hand-to-hand.

I felt the satisfying crunch of bone as I broke the sword arm of one of my attacks. Watching him flee, cradling his arm, I felt my breath heavy and laboured. I could feel thick blood oozing from a cut on my arm where I had not dodged quick enough and knew that sooner or later exhaustion was going to get the better of me. Suddenly a net was thrown over me and I found myself being dragged to the ground. I let out a roar of anger and hatred as I struggled to free myself from the mesh that was now holding me but the more I struggled the tighter and more tangled I began to find myself. I could feel my heart racing and the all-consuming feeling of entrapment came over me, I felt like an animal knowing that there was no escape.

'Porthos!' I heard Aramis' cry and looked around to try and see my friend. 'Aramis!' I cried with all the strength I had left hoping that my friend would make it in time. I could feel myself being dragged towards the cart and knew that I had to try and slow them down, buy time for Aramis to get to me. I struggle with all my might, putting all my weight away from the direction they are trying to take me. It worked slightly as the men struggle to keep a grip on the piece of net they are holding. 'Porthos!' I turn just in time to see my friend round the corner. Then everything went black.

Aramis

As soon I heard the shot I knew something was wrong. I began running towards where it had come from. Where Porthos had gone. In my head I kept seeing pictures of my brother lying in the street, his red blood staining the snow beneath him. I shook my head, Porthos is strong, he will be all right, he must be all right. I called my brothers name, shouted it into the night, not caring about the funny looks I gained from the people around me.

When I heard his answering call I was relieved. He was alive but there was something in his voice, some kind pain, some kind of fear, hearing gave me the burst of speed I needed. When I rounded the corner I picture I saw filled me with rage. The street was strewn with body's some bleeding, others with broken necks, the work of my brother. For some reason that made me feel quite warm inside. But then I saw him, my brother in everything but blood, trussed up in a net like an animal. His eyes met mine briefly and they held such fear and desperation that I felt as though my heart would break. Then it was gone as one of the men holding him hit him over the head, knocking him out cold.

I felt rage boiling inside of me like a great fire ablaze. How dare they treat his brother like this? Who do they think they are, that they think they can get away with attacking a Kings Musketeer with any consequences? Letting out a growl I drew my sword from my sheathe and ran towards my brothers assailants ready to gut every last one of them and watch as their blood paints the street red. Two of the men saw me and leapt off the cart to face me, swords drawn. I quickly and gracefully dispatched them both before turning my attention back to my brother.

Suddenly a shot rang out and a pain in my right leg made me fall to the ground. I looked up to see one of the men still pointing his smoking musket at me. I tried to pull myself up using my sword but when I stepped forward the pain caused my leg to give way and I dropped to the ground. Already I felt dizziness and exhaustion coming over due to the amount of blood now pouring from my leg. No matter how hard I tried I could not raise myself. I lay there in anguish as the masked men drag my brother's unconscious bulk onto the cart and helplessly watched the cart slowly draw away. I felt my eyes closing and the last thing I remembered was the look in Porthos' eyes before everything went dark.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi, I'm quite new to this whole fan fiction writing thing and so would love any kind of feed back that people are willing to give!**

**Thank you and enjoy! **

**Oh and P.S. Sadly I own absolutely nothing related to the Musketeers. Enjoy again!**

Athos

'It's all my fault Athos, I failed him. He needed my help and I failed him.' 'Aramis, for the last time it was not your fault'. 'You weren't there Athos; you didn't see the look in his eyes. He was so scared; I have never seen him that scared before. He was my brother and I let a stupid injury get in the way.' He shouted brandishing his hand at his leg, 'I wish it was me instead'. Aramis held his head in his hands. 'Don't say that Aramis'. I growled trying to get my brother to see sense but he would not listen. I leaned forward and grabbed his wrists, pulling them away from his face. 'Look at me'. He finally raised his head, his soft brown eyes looking into my stormy blue ones. 'There was nothing you could have done' Aramis shook his head but took a deep breath and lent back into his bed.

It had been early in the morning, not even dawn, when I had been called to the infirmary, the alcohol still not out of my system. I had grumbled about being dragged out of bed at such an unearthly but when I had seen the looks on D'Artagnan's and Captain Treville's faces I had known instantly that something was wrong. I pushed past them into the room and what I saw made me feel sick in my gut.

My brother, Aramis, had been lain out on the table, his leg covered in blood. Instantly I was at his side. His already pale skin was now white in complexion and when I touched it, it felt cold and unnatural. I had turned to the physician who at that point was attempting to stitch up the now clean wound in my brother's leg. 'Will he survive?' I asked bluntly, trying to hide the worry and anger rising inside of me. 'So far the wound looks uninfected which is good, but he has lost a lot of blood, I'm afraid there is nothing more I can do for him. It's up to God now'. With that he picked up his tools, nodding to Treville as he left.

I watched as D'Artagnan came forward and took Aramis' hand. He knelt down beside him and I could hear him praying under his breath, praying that our brother would make it through the night. It was at that point that I realised a presence missing. 'Where's Porthos?' I ask, questioning no one in particular, 'he should be here'. The look on the Captain's made my heart skip a beat. He beckoned me away and out of the room. I shut the door leaving our youngest alone with our injured brother.

'What's wrong, is he hurt' I paused for a seconded, my heart stopping, I take a breath 'He, is he dead?'. No, I thought to myself, I can't lose another brother not another one. 'No, he's not dead or hurt as far a we know'. I felt a wave of relief rush over me. 'Then where is he?' I ask giving my Captain a quizzical look. 'That's the problem, we don't know'. 'What do you mean you don't know?!' I raise my voice slightly then suddenly realise who I'm talking to and lower my head. 'Sorry sir'. 'That's ok, you're worried about your brothers, I understand. We sent someone to fetch Porthos when Aramis was found but the person we sent said he didn't answer the door and when he looked through the window the bed looked unslept in.

I lower my head, thoughts rushing through my mind. I tried to picture where Porthos might be but came up with nothing. 'Athos', my thoughts were interrupted as Treville continued, 'There is something you should know. When we found Aramis we found something else.' He paused for a second, then continued, 'There were men strewn all over the street, dead men, most of them with sword wounds, but there were others; others with broken necks.' The work of my brother, I think, the shadow of a smile passing across my lips as I think about Porthos dealing with those who injured my other brother. 'And amongst the bodies was Porthos' sword'.

Here my Captain stopped and looked at me and suddenly I could feel a source of anger rising inside of me. I raised my head, insuring my eyes met his directly and gave him the stare that all young recruits are afraid of receiving, 'And what, might I ask, are you insinuating?'. I watched as my Captain swallowed, shifting slightly under my gaze and took a second to choose his words wisely'. 'I am saying that both Porthos and Aramis were drunk; if these men had gotten into a fight with them and had Aramis been injured it would not have taken much for Porthos to snap. Every good soldier has suffered from a moment of rage, and maybe once Porthos had realised what he had done he felt guilty and fled.'

'This, is Porthos we are talking about!' I yelled grabbing Treville by the collar, not caring that he was my Captain anymore. This was my brother he was insulting, the most gentle and caring of us all, he would not attack for any reason let alone murder men in the streets just because some out of control brawl. How dare Treville even contemplate such a thing? I could feel outrage boiling inside of me threatening to escape from every pore of my body. I pulled Treville's face close to mine, our eyes locked. 'Even if Porthos did kill those men, he would not do it for no reason, let alone leave his injured brother to die in the streets.' I hissed. ' He is no thug or Red Guard; he is a musketeer and would rather swing on the rope then leave one of us injured. Do you understand me?'. I growled. Treville nodded and I released him.

He stood there rubbing his neck. 'I am sorry, I know I was wrong to question Porthos' loyalty but the evidence points to only one explanation and I had to raise it.' I looked at him, wanting to be angry still but could only read a look of guilt and dishonour on his face. I could feel my rage bubbling away and my blank mask returned. 'I am sorry also, you are my Captain and I should understand that all your motives for questioning are true but understand Porthos worked hard to get where he is and I can not stand by while his loyalty and honour are in question.' Treville nodded. 'So what now?' I asked. 'Now we find him, we will search every street and hell hole if we have to but we will find him and we will bring him home safely.' He held out his hand and I took it. 'But while we do that you must stay here with Aramis, he will need you and hopefully when…',when not if, I think to myself, 'when he wakes up he can tell us what happened.' I nodded and bowed my head to him to show my respect but also to show that all was forgiven.

'What's going on?' asked D'Artagnan, looking up as I entered the room, a worried expression on his face. He was still knelt by Aramis' side and by the redness of his eyes and the dampness of his face I could tell he had been crying. 'I heard raised voices outside, is everything ok?'. I walked over to his side and place my hand on his shoulder, 'Just a little argument, everything's fine.' But even as I spoke I knew it was a lie. Everything was not fine. In front of me lay one of my brothers fighting for his live and somewhere out there was my other brother fighting to survive. Everything was not fine, but my expressionless mask did not show it and the boy seemed to relax a little once I said it.

That had been nearly four hours ago. Since then Treville's search party had returned empty handed. Aramis had awoken screaming my other brother's name and it had taken a lot of coaxing from D'Artagnan and myself to stop him from jumping out of bed. Once awake and calmed, Aramis had told us what had happened and by the end of it I could feel myself shaking with anger. These men dared trap a musketeer, let alone my brother, in such away? It made me growl with anger. I knew if I got my hands on them first I would make sure their deaths were as slow and painful as possible. Treville had immediately sent out some musketeers to follow the carts trail but fresh snowfall had covered its tracks. They had found something though.

Porthos' pauldron had been found half buried in the snow near the outskirts of the city. Now as the three brothers sat in the infirmary, their youngest was cradling it in his arms as though it was a delicate and vulnerable child. D'Artagnan was near to tears again and this time there was nothing I could do to comfort him. We sat together in silence, none of us truly knowing what to do. Porthos was strong, loyal, and brave. Although sometimes his emotions would get the better of him, he always made sure the rest of them remained level headed. Like the fourth wheel of a cart, he had always kept them moving and heading in the right direction but now, without him, it felt as though their world had come tumbling down around them.

'What now?'. It was D'Artagnan that finally asked the unspoken question. 'We can't just sit here and do nothing. Porthos trusts us to help him and that's what we've got to do.' Taking a deep breath, I try to clear my head. 'D'Artagnan is right, we have to find Porthos'. 'But where do we start?' cried Aramis. I close my eyes trying to think. 'This attack and kidnapping, it was personal.' 'What do you mean?' asked D'Artagnan his brown eyes turning to look at me. 'I mean so far we haven't received any ransoms and you were injured Aramis, they could just as easily taken you as well, but they didn't. Why?'. 'Because it was personal, they were after Porthos specifically, they knew where his room was, that he would be back late, they even wanted him alive. This was planned.' Aramis answered nodding his head. 'But where does that lead us?'. They all looked at one another, the question all ready answered. 'The Court of Miracles'.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello again, I hope you are all liking the story. I would just like to thank Coffeecup35 for the advice as it was very useful and would love anymore from anyone!**

**This chapter is all Porthos based so enjoy!**

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He didn't know where he was but he knew the journey had been long. Porthos had woken to find a hood over his head, blocking his sight. He knew he was no longer in the net but both his hand and legs were now tightly bound and when he had pulled at the ropes he had felt a slight give but not enough to slip his bindings.

His head throbbed where he had been hit and it felt like a load drumbeat was pounding again and again in his head making it hard to think. The road had been rough and with every bump and hole Porthos had found himself being thrown around until he felt like he was bruised all over. The cut on his arm and stopped bleeding at least but he could feel it burning, he lay there wishing Aramis were there so that he check it wasn't infected.

Suddenly a thought crossed his mind. Aramis. He had seen his brother running to his aid before he had been knocked out. If he was still with his captives, what had happened to his brother? Had the cart pulled away before he reached it? Or had he been injured, or worse? Fear began to creep into Porthos' body along with a mixture of guilt. If his friend had been injured or killed trying to save him he would never forgive himself. Then another thought crossed him. What if Aramis had been taken capture as well?

He moved slightly, straining to catch a snippet off his captives conversation. He hoped to hear something about their destination or at least some information about his brother. Porthos soon found, though that the hood muffled most of their words and the men spoke only in soft murmurs so he was unable to pick up anything useful. Eventually he gave in and focused his attention on trying to loosen his bounds, with little success. One of the men soon spotted him moving and he earned a rough kick to the chest that left him breathless. He was turned onto his back and his bonds drawn so tight he could feel them cutting off his circulation. The cold barrel of a gun was then placed on his neck and he was threatened that if he did something like that again he would soon become a very dead musketeer. Porthos gave in and lay still for the rest of the journey.

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It must have been near midday when the cart came to an abrupt stop. Although it was mid- winter, the sun was shining bright. Even through his hood Porthos could see it's light reflecting of the snow, he flexed his muscles slightly feeling its rays slowing warming him. Suddenly and without warning, strong hands grabbed him and roughly pulled him off the cart. He winced slightly as one of the men grabbed his arm near to his wound. Once he was off the cart he tried to stand but the hood made him disorientated, his muscles had still not woken from the long journey and he fell abruptly to the ground.

His captives left him there whilst they laughed. Blushing slightly under his hood, Porthos tried to stand again, not wanting to let the men get anymore kicks out of his situation and embarrassment. Just as he was about to stand his legs were kicked from underneath him and he fell forward into something that he hoped was mud but from the smell he knew it wasn't. The men surrounding him were in hysterics now. He felt a rough hand grab his shirt pulling him up. 'This is where you belong dog, you are no musketeer, just a dog who needs to be taught how to serve his masters' with that Porthos was pushed to the ground again, he hooded face forced into the manure. He tried to struggle but the grip on him just tightened. All around him the men laughed and jeered, cheering the other man on.

'Enough'. A deep voice barked the swift order. The hand holding Porthos down let go and backed away. 'I'm sorry sir we were just having a bit of fun' the man's voice sounded pleading. A shot rang out and Porthos started as he felt a body fall next to him. 'Anymore of you want to have a bit of fun?' The man asked. 'Good, glad we've got that sorted, now take him inside. Oh and someone deal with that.' Suddenly Porthos felt himself being half- dragged, half-carried into some building.

'Put him there'. Porthos felt himself being forced to his knees, two firm hands on his shoulders, another two holding his arms. 'Very good, Tyron, now the rest of you leave us.' Another man, something about his voice seemed familiar to Porthos. There was a sound of shuffling feet and a shutting door then the hood was removed from his head. The sudden bright light was blinding and he kneeled there blinking quickly trying to focus his vision. Then he saw the man who stood before him. He was tall and skinny with a mop of dark brown hair, a lot like D'Artagnan, Porthos thought but there was something different about this man. Instead of having D'Artagnan's soft, kind brown eyes this man's eyes were filled with anger and hatred. Then Porthos saw the scar on the man's right cheek and he realised who he was kneeling before.

'Kiron? Is that you?', suddenly a fist flew out of nowhere and hit him across the face, causing his teeth to rattle and blood to fill his mouth. Swallowing it, Porthos turned to see another the man, the man from outside he guessed, towering above him. 'You speak when spoken to dog!' he growled, voice thick with anger. 'It's ok, Tyron, let him speak.' Tyron moved away so Porthos was facing Kiron again. Kiron, an old friend from back in the Court now standing with his back to him looking into the mirror that was situated above the fireplace. 'Kiron, brother, what is going on? Why are you doing this?'. Kiron turned with a hiss. 'Brother? Charon was my brother and you killed him. You and you're musketeer scum!' he yelled. Porthos flinched trying to hide the hurt that rose inside of him. Kiron may have been Charon's brother in blood but Porthos loved him like a brother also. He had grieved for his friend from the Court but at the same time knew that at some point he would have to pay for what had happened. If now was that time Porthos was willing to accept it and silently he begged Aramis, Athos and D'Artagnan to forgive him for not trying to fight his end.

'That's why you brought me here, to get your revenge? Very well do your worse'. Porthos fought hard to keep the fear out of his voice. He would not allow Kiron the pleasure of seeing him scared. What really scared him though was the look that came over Kiron's face. 'Foolish Musketeer' he purred, bringing his face to Porthos, 'Although I would enjoy the pleasure of making you pay for my poor brothers life, there is something of far more value that I need from you.' He said taking a step back 'Oh and what's that' Porthos growled trying to appear brave while he began to feel a tight knot forming inside his stomach.

'Information'. For once Porthos was confused, not really sure what to say. What information could he have that Kiron could possible want? Then he remembered something Charon and him had found when he was still living in the Court. 'From the look in your eyes I think you know what I'm talking about, don't you Porthos du Vallon? Charon told me about it you know, he never told me its location but he told me about it.' Kiron turned back to the mirror, his hand touching his scar as he traced its outline.

'The secret entrance into the Palace itself, found by two young street beggars with no idea what to do with what they had found. A way into the palace that was completely unguarded because no when else knew about it and what did you do? Instead of stealing gold and jewellery you stole bread!' At this he turned and looked directly at him, 'But once you have given me its location, do you no what I am going to do?' Porthos stares at him but doesn't answer. 'I am going to take a group of my best men and we are going to attack the palace as they sleep. I am personally going to slit the childish king's throat myself' at that point Porthos felt himself growl but Kiron took no notice and carried on, 'Then I shall take the lovely queen as my own and all of Frances riches will be mine' at this he laughed. 'You're insane' Porthos growls and suddenly a knife is brought to his neck.

'I may be insane but I will soon also be rich beyond your wildest dreams and you are going to help me achieve that goal.' 'Never. I would never betray my country.' Kiron began to grin psychotically. 'I know I hoped you would say that because now I can make getting this information out of you as painful as possible, hold him up' The two men either side of Porthos pulled him up until he was face to face with Kiron. Suddenly a fist lashed out and caught him in the chest knocking the breath out of him whilst the next caught him across the face. Kiron may have been small but the beating was long and brutal. The last thing Porthos knew were the arms supporting being released and the ground coming up to meet him.


	5. Chapter 5

**I know it's been a while since I last posted but I finally got round to finishing this chapter. I hope you like it and any comments will be gratefully accepted!**

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D'Artagnan remembered going to the Court of Miracles before. That time Porthos had been convicted of murder and had been taken to the Court for protection but this time was different, this time Porthos had been kidnapped and they were here to get him back.

As D'Artagnan walked down the street along side Athos he resisted the urge to draw his sword. All around them the residents of the Court were hitting sticks and other things together, their way of warding off strangers. He felt himself trying to flinch away from the sound but a reassuring look from Athos gave him the strength to keep pushing forward.

In his mind he kept reminding himself again and again why they were here. When Aramis had told D'Artagnan and Athos what had happened he had felt himself sheathing with anger. Whoever these people were, they had messed with the wrong regiment. He had known that Aramis and Athos would risk everything to get their brother back and knew there was nowhere he would rather be than fighting by their sides. Porthos was their rock. D'Artagnan had only been with the musketeers for a while and already the absence of their friend was cutting him deeply.

When Porthos' pauldron had been found he felt as though the ground beneath him had fallen away. It had taken all his strength to stop himself falling to the fall in a heap. He had managed to hold back his tears but as soon as Athos had left and Aramis was asleep he had let them pour down his face. Of course when they had decided they were going to the Court, Aramis had instantly tried to get out of bed but Athos had quickly forced him back. It had taken a lot of coaxing from both D'Artagnan and Athos to make him stay there.

Now D'Artagnan was starting to miss their cheeky friend and his witty comments. They would have been a great comfort in this unnerving and dangerous part of Paris. Athos might have been his mentor, close companion and a skilled fighter but right now it looked as though even he was fighting the urge to turn and run. The noise of Court was now deafening and it was hard for D'Artagnan to focus. Suddenly two men stepped in front of them, makeshift swords drawn. D'Artagnan turned around as two others blocked their exits; they were surrounded. He felt Athos tense next to him and let his hand drop close to his sword.

'You have no authority here' one of the men growled, teeth bared 'State your name and business or leave while you have the chance'. 'I am Athos of the Kings musketeers and I seek an audience with Queen of the Court'. Athos' bold statement surprised even D'Artagnan and when he looked at him; his face was blank and stern. There was a pause while the men looked at each other, not really sure what to do.

'And who says she wants an audience with you'. The crowd parted as Flea made her way forward, bowing their heads to her. 'You shouldn't be here Athos; you know musketeers ain't welcome here.' She paused for a second looking around ' Where's Porthos?'. That's why we're here' Athos said stepping forward, 'Porthos is in trouble and we need you're help'. A flash of fear shot across Flea's face before quickly being replaced by her blank mask again. D'Artagnan released that being the Queen of thief's and murderers meant that Flea could show no emotion or weakness. 'Then I suppose you better follow me'. As Flea said this she turned with a swish and the crowd parted again letting her and the musketeers through.

Flea led them into a room, which appeared to have been transformed into throne room, in the middle sat a big wooden seat that was scratched and on one end a chunk of wood was missing from the armrest. Flea walked up to it and flopped down, looking exhausted. 'Sit', She beckoned indicating to a couple of chairs stood next to her. D'Artagnan eyed them cautiously but when Athos went and took a seat he quickly followed. 'You can speak freely here, no one will enter unless I give them permission, ok?' Athos nods his head 'Now, tell me what happened'.

D'Artagnan sat quietly and listened as Athos quickly explained their situation. He watched as Flea took in all the information she was given, occasionally she would ask a question but for most of it she sat in silence. When Athos got to the part about the net D'Artagnan watched as Fleas expressionless masked dropped to one of pure and utter horror and he was sure that he heard her let out a faint growl. By the time Athos had finished Flea was sat on the edge of her throne. Steadily she moved herself backwards and sat upright, becoming a Queen once again.

'From the way it sounds I understand why you think he would be here but I am afraid I don't know about Porthos whereabouts and trust me I would know if he was here'. D'Artagnan looked at Athos and could see that he was struggling to contain his anger and frustration. He hated feeling helpless and didn't want to go back to Aramis empty handed. They had to find someway to rescue Porthos. That was he suddenly realised that Athos was talking again. 'Flea, whoever took Porthos did it deliberately; they took him for a reason. Do you know of anyone who would wish to harm him?'.

Flea paused for a second; taking a deep breath she turned until she was looking directly at them. 'When Charon was killed Porthos made himself a lot of enemies, you may think of us as criminals and lawbreakers but we have rules of our own. Murder is against these rules; especially the murder of the king and the price must be paid for this crime, even if it was an accident.' D'Artagnan felt guilt creep into body. Porthos had wept for his friend, it had been the only time D'Artagnan had seen the big man cry. It was not right that he should be blamed for the death of his friend; Porthos hadn't even been the one that had killed him. 'You think someone took Porthos for revenge?' D'Artagnan asked, his voice wavering. 'Most likely, I'm sorry, there is nothing I can do for you know.' She was about to rise when Athos pulled something out of his pocket. 'Recognise this'. He asked throwing something that looked like a piece of cloth to Flea.

She caught it and looked down at what she was holding. Suddenly the colour drains from her face. 'Where did you get this?' She asks, her hand shaking, fear in her eyes. 'All the men who attacked Porthos were wearing it' Athos replies, his stern eyes fixed on her. Flea looks down again, hands fumbling, 'No, it can't be.' 'Can't be who?' D'Artagnan asked trying to catch Flea's attention. 'Kiron'. 'Who is this Kiron?' Athos asks stormy eyes focused on her.

Taking a deep breath, Flea finally looks up. 'You may not understand this Comte but in the Court we steal to live. We steal food only to survive and sustain ourselves, Porthos, Charon, me … and almost everyone else in the Court, that's the code we live by.' At this she paused and took another breath.' But there were some that went past that code. A group of criminals whose goal was not just to survive but also to get rich, and they would do it by any means necessary. They would attack carriages and steal from lords, whenever they did this they would wear these masks' at this she held up the thing in her hand 'to hide their identity. They were shunned by the Court because their crimes brought us a lot of unwanted attention and trouble with the King.' Here she stopped.

'So this Kiron, he was a member of this group?' D'Artagnan asked. Flea laughed 'Not just a member, he was their leader…and he was Charon's brother.' At this D'Artagnan's heart stopped, looking at Athos he could see his brother's face drop. 'Where is he now?' Athos growled. 'That's the thing, I don't know. Actually I thought he was dead. Kiron and his gang had planned to steal from a Duke that was visiting the King, Charon had begged him not to do it but Kiron had laughed at him and called him weak. Then they went off at dawn and never came back. Some people say he was caught, others say they succeeded and had left the country to enjoy their newfound riches. We never found out the truth but Charon mourned for his brother, as did Porthos. But if he's back and found out about his brothers death and Porthos' involvement then…He will…I...I'm sorry.' She stopped, nearly in tears.

D'Artagnan felt as though his heart was breaking. He wanted to comfort her and in turn comfort himself but knew that she would not appreciate him noticing her weakness. 'Flea'. Athos' voice was calm and steady. 'Listen to me, we still need your help, if Porthos is in as much as danger as you say he is then we need to find him, and quickly.' Flea wiped her eyes and nodded. 'Do you know where Kiron would be keeping him?' Flea blinked and closed her eyes, as though trying to recall some kind of memory.

With a gasp she opened them again. 'Yes I remember something.' Yesterday a man came into the Court bragging that he had taken down a warrior from the Court but no one really took any notice. The warrior must have been Porthos.' 'Do you know where we can find the man?' Athos asked. 'Yes he drinks at the Wren most nights.' 'Thank you Flea.' D'Artagnan and Athos stood quickly, bowing to her. 'Here' She handed them a round amulet. 'This should give you safe passage out of the Court' D'Artagnan reached out and as he took the amulet Flea gripped his hand. 'Please. Bring him back safely.' He looked into her dark pleading eyes and knew that whatever the cost, they would get Porthos back. Whatever the cost.


	6. Chapter 6

**I know it had been I while since I last posted but this ones all about Porthos.**

**Again I just want to say any comments will be gratefully apritiated.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

When Porthos had finally woken he had found himself lying inside a dark, cramp cell. He'd shifted slightly trying to stretch his tired muscles only to let out harsh gasp when a sharp pain had rushed down his body. He had lent back against the cold stonewall gasping for air. It was at that point that Porthos had remembered what had happened. He remembered hard fists pummeling him again and again. Slowly he moved his hands and lifted up shirt. His skin was black and purple but he was relieved that when he touched his ribs he felt none of the bones shift.

After lowering his shirt again he had turned his attention his arm. Lifting up the sleeve Porthos couldn't bear to look at it. The skin was red and inflamed. Around the wound there was dry, crusted blood. Even without touching it Porthos could tell from the heat emanating from it that it was infected. 'Brilliant, just what I need' he growled softly to himself. He let his sleeve drop and looked around him taking in his prison. It appeared to be some kind of cellar that Kiron had transformed into a cell.

There was a small window at the top of one of the walls, which was the only source of light. From the silvery moonlight that shone through it Porthos guessed that it was around midnight. The musketeers must have noticed his disappearance by now. He thought to himself. They would be looking for him. This had made him smile; he knew his friends would not stop until they had found him.

Suddenly his thoughts had been interrupted by the door on the far side of the room opening. He'd tried to pull himself backwards and into the shadows away from this new enemy but as they came forward he had realised that it wasn't Kiron or his men but a woman. She was dressed in a scruffy white gown that went down to the floor. It was ripped in some places and in others places were stains of what looked like food and soot. She had long flowing gold hair that was tangled and unkempt. In her hands she had been carrying a tray, which held a bowl, cloth and a few other items. Slowly she had made her way towards him, not making eye contact, as though she was dealing with a wild animal that she didn't want to startle.

When she had she reached him she knelt down placing the tray besides her. Steadily she had reached out taken his injured arm lightly in her hand. Porthos couldn't help but let out a hiss of pain, which made the woman flinch, but something had stopped him from pulling away. He had watched as she had carefully pulled up his sleeve and examined his wound. The women's face had dropped and Porthos had felt a sinking feeling in his heart. He had already known he was in trouble but this woman's expression had confirmed it. 'How bad is it' He had growled, trying to sound as unthreatening as possible but she had just shaken her head, still not making eye contact.

It was at this point that she had brought the tray closer. She poured some kind of liquid into the bowl and handed him the bottle and he had accepted it gratefully. Suddenly aware of what she was about to do, Porthos took off his belt and put it into his mouth. Nodding to her that he was ready, she had taken the cloth, dipped it into the bowl and then placed it against his wound. Porthos could not stop the scream of pain that escaped from him. He had swung his arm around violently, instincts causing him to try to get away from the thing that was causing him pain. Even with the alcohol numbing Porthos' senses the fire that was raging on his arm was excruciating. But the woman had been strong, her hands keeping a firm but gentle grip on his arm while she finished her work.

As soon as the wound was clean she had released him and watched silently as he had pulled himself away. Porthos had sat there panting; pulling in great gasps of air, trying to extinguish the fire that still raged on his arm and the one that was beginning to burn near his ribs. Again the woman had approached him carefully on hands and knees, pulling the tray along with her. She had taken up his sleeve and from her tray had produced a small round pot. Delicately she had taken some paste from pot and applied it to his wound. He had tensed, prepared himself for a harsh stinging but instead had felt a soothing coldness that made him sigh in relief. He had seen a bemused smile flit across the woman's face but her blank mask was quickly replaced.

Focusing on her work Porthos had thought how much the woman reminded him of Aramis. Her fingers had moved with a quick efficiency, gentle in comparison to her rough, well-worked hands. When she had finished the women had neatly wrapped a bandage round his wound, pulling it tight and finishing it of with a smart bow. She had sat back for a minute admiring her handy work when a noise outside made her start. Hurriedly she had packed her stuff back onto her tray, reaching over to grab the bottle that still sat next to him. As she did, Porthos had suddenly grabbed her arm.

He could feel her pulse racing as she started to panic and had felt guilt rising inside of him. This woman had helped me and this was how he repaying her, he thought, he may have done it at the court but he was a musketeer now. He had quickly released her arm and gruffly he murmured 'Sorry'. She had swiftly pulled her arm away, placed the bottle onto her tray and had been about to rise and leave when Porthos had whispered in his gruff voice, 'And Thank you'. It was at this point when her head turned round, she looked up and their eyes finally met. Her eyes were a sharp bright blue and filled with something that Porthos could not read. A feeling of recognition had come over him but was gone as the sound of the door being open broke the silence and she had quickly rose and left.

* * *

That had been almost two nights ago. Once the women had left Porthos had fallen into a deep sleep only to be woken in the morning by two men who had then dragged him before Kiron. Tyron, Kiron personal guard dog, had been there also, standing near by, hand at the ready to hit Porthos if he insulted Kiron. Which happened a lot.

Kiron had spent a good half of the day questioning Porthos without prevail and spent the rest of the time trying to torture the information out of him. But Porthos had kept quite, he would not betray his friends or his King and so Kiron had eventually given up and put him back in his the cell which Porthos was beginning to become well acquainted with.

That night the woman had not come that but Porthos had found a pot of ointment, some food and a small water skin wrapped in a cloth in the corner of his cell and was unable to stop the small smile cross his lips. Kiron may think he was alone but Porthos knew that his friends would be looking for him and until they came he was being well looked after. Porthos had applied the ointment he had been given to his arm that was beginning to heal nicely and a little to his chest to hopefully reduce the bruising and slight swelling that had occurred.

Porthos had slept well again that night but the next day had been hard. Before Kiron had listen to Tyron when dealing with Porthos' torture but now he decided to choose something of his own and Porthos hadn't been able to tell which of them was worse until now. Kiron had tied him up blindfolded outside at dawn and had left him there without water or food for the whole day. His shirt had been taken from him and he could feel himself burning from the suns rays. Even though his dark skin tone allowed more relief in the sun than others the pure heat of the suns rays in contrast to the cold winter air around him caused to fight against the will to just give in and beg for the sweat release of death. Porthos managed to old out though and when the sun had finally set he was taken back to his cell. Porthos now lay on the floor trying to take in as much of its cool relief as possible. In his heart he knew that his brothers would be trying to find him but in his head a small voice whispered that he was wrong.


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry it has been a while since I posted but I hope this extra long chapter will make up for it!**

* * *

It was late morning when Porthos finally woke. The sun's dull light spreading a light glow that was comforting compared to the harsh light he had been forced to endure the day before. Porthos could feel his skin blistered and raw beneath his shirt and flinched slightly at the thought of the torture he had had to endure to keep his kings secrets safe. So far there had been know sign of Kiron or his men and so Porthos had spent most his time shifting from one position to the other trying to survey his surroundings and look for any way to escape.

Suddenly the door opened and was quickly closed behind the person who entered it. Porthos couldn't help but let a grin come across his face. The blond haired women came forward carrying her tray again. Carefully she knelt down next to him and gently removed his shirt to reveal the red scorched skin. She then dipped a cloth into the bowl and slowly put it against his skin. A great gasp of relief suddenly escaped from him and Porthos couldn't stop himself from instinctively shivering as the ice-cold water ran down his chest. Gradually the women moved the cloth from one burnt part to another, slowly relieving his pain.

As she worked Porthos let his lay back against the wall and closed his eyes. The out of the blue, the woman began to hum. It was a sad but lifting song, one that Porthos had heard before, but he could never quite remember the lyrics. He opened his eyes to find the women's glassy blue ones looking straight back at him. 'That song, I know it, where's it from?' He asked taking her hand. A look of sadness seemed to pass across her face. She took a deep breath, pulled her hand from his and with a shake of her head she spoke. 'You really don't remember do you Porthos?'. And with that question, memories began rushing back.

* * *

'Hey mongrel, get back here'. Porthos could feel his heart racing as the sped through the streets of Paris, the boys following hot on his heals. All he had done was accidentally run into one of the rich boys and knock him into the mud. Then suddenly he had been on the ground being punched, kicked and spat on. When he had seen his escape he had quickly taken it and fled through the city hoping to lose them but the boys were quick and he could feel his ribs rattling where he had been repeatedly kicked. Swiftly he took a right turn, zig zagging through the stalls and carts that lined the street, trying to shake the young nobles off but they were just as swift and clever.

'Look there he goes' one of them yelled 'Stop him!' another one shouted and suddenly hands were reaching out, trying to grasp him. Panicked Porthos spurred himself towards an empty alleyway, knocking over a cart of melons as he went. Porthos couldn't help let out a little chuckle as a squelching sound accompanied by a loud cursing told him that the melons had caught their intended target. Looking back he saw the young nobles looking red faced and sweating as they rounded the corner. But what he saw when his attention turned back to where he was going made his heart sink. It was a dead end. The alleyway he had hung all his hope on was blocked by a tall wall.

Porthos ran his hand along the wall, trying to find some kind of grip that he could use to climb up and out of the ally. 'There's no escape now mongrel' Turning he saw the nobles slowly drawing towards him. 'You are going to pay for what you did' he leader growled, his face dark and angry. Like a trapped animal Porthos frantically began looking around for some kind of way out. His sharp eyes quickly spied a pile of boxes stacked up against the wall to the right of him. Although they looked unstable and a fall from that height would most likely break his neck, Porthos knew from the look on the nobles face that it was his best option.

Quickly he jumped towards them and began to scramble up them. The leader let out a snarl like an animal and race towards him as Porthos climbed higher and higher towards the roof of the house. His was just about to grab onto the side of the roof when the boxes were pulled away from beneath him. Suddenly Porthos found himself falling. It was as though time slowed, one minute he was plummeting to the ground, the next thing he knew he was hanging in the air with two hands wrapped tightly around his wrist.

Looking up Porthos let out a gasp of surprise, above him stood a young girl with great locks of bright gold hair that was blowing wildly in the wind. She stood, feet plastered to the edge of the roof, face screwed up as she strained to keep him from falling to the ground below. Beneath him Porthos could hear the young nobles shouting and cursing at the girl, telling her to let him drop but she ignored them and slowing began to try and pull Porthos up, grunting with the effort. As soon as he was able to, he grabbed the side of the roof and pulled himself up. As soon as his weight was removed the girl collapsed onto the roof panting and Porthos sat next to her gasping for air whilst trying to slow down his hurriedly beating heart.

Suddenly there was a commotion below them and Porthos looked down to see a ladder being placed up against the roof. At this he let out an exasperated gasp. Don't these nobles ever give up? A hand grabbed his and Porthos found himself being dragged to his feet by the girl. Swiftly she began to run across the roof, dragging Porthos with her. As they neared the edge and the girl didn't slow down Porthos began to worry. She picked up speed and Porthos could feel her body tensing and so did the same and suddenly they leapt across the gap that separated one of the houses from another. Porthos looked down just in time to them pass over the ally way before they landed on the other side. The girls' landing was graceful, it was obvious that she had done this before but for Porthos the landing was rough and he stumbled slightly.

Quickly she helped him up and they were off again. Racing across the rooftops of Paris, jumping alleyways and scrambling across balconies until finally they came to a stop above what appeared to an alleyway that had been blocked off at both ends. There the girl quickly shimmed down a drain pipe and leapt elegantly to the ground before beckoning Porthos to follow. Carefully he made his way to the ground and couldn't help the feeling of relief that came across him when his feet hit the ground.

Cautiously he quickly surveyed his surroundings. The cornered off street was obviously the mysterious girls home. Already there appeared to be a warm fire burning, which cast a soft glow onto the cold stonewalls, and surrounding it were pots and pans that seemed to be used for cooking. Nearby there were some furs lying on the floor which took the appearance of some kind of bed and next to it lay a pile of old, worn out looking clothes. What did surprise Porthos though was what appeared to a bow and some quivers lying next to a few apparently full water skins. It was at this point that Porthos finally looked at his savoir. She appeared to be about his age, whatever that was, and just a little smaller then him. The clothes she wore were baggy compared to her lean physic and her hair hung down past her shoulders. She appeared to be wearing some kind of chain but whatever was on the end of it was hidden inside her shirt. The girl's eyes were a sharp blue but when she looked at him he felt only kind warmth.

Beckoning him over she unclipped a dagger in a sheathe that appeared to have been fastened to her leg. Slowly Porthos crept over and seated himself by the fire, enjoying its warmth. 'You hungry' she asked and Porthos nodded but when he was handed the bread he accepted it cautiously, his Court instincts reminding him that there was usually a price to pay for charity. In the end hunger got the better of him and he wolfed it down. The girl sat opposite him, the fires refection dancing in her eyes. 'What's your name?' she finally asked. 'Porthos' he grunts, mid mouthful. 'What's yours?' She pauses for a minute before answering. 'Alexandria, but most people call me Alex, it's easier to remember'. She grins at me, her face lighting up for a second before creasing into a frown.

'Why did they call you mongrel?' Porthos looked up, anger and embarrassment filling inside of him. 'They called me a mongrel because I'm black, because I'm different to them' he growled. 'Then they do not see what I see, a boy like me fighting to survive on the streets of Paris,' Porthos looked at her face expecting to see mirth in her eyes but instead saw only anger and hatred. 'You should not let them get to you Porthos, you should always be proud of where you have come from'. 'That's easy for you to say' he huffed fumbling with his shirt. When the Alex didn't speak Porthos looked up and the look on her face made him feel ashamed. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be offensive, you're just trying to help'. 'It's ok, hey would you like me to stop that?' indicating to Porthos' arm where a trickle of blood appeared to be running sluggishly.

Nodding Porthos made his way round the fire and settled down next to her. Alex reached for a bag next to her and brought out a bandage and a cloth. Carefully she rolled up his sleeve and began to clean the wound, as she did she began to sing softly under her voice.

À la claire fontaine m'en allant promener  
J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle que je m'y suis baigné.  
Sous les feuilles d'un chêne, je me suis fait sécher.  
Sur la plus haute branche, un rossignol chantait.  
Chante, rossignol, chante, toi qui as le cœur gai.  
Tu as le cœur à rire… moi je l'ai à pleurer.  
J'ai perdu mon amie sans l'avoir mérité,  
Pour un bouton de rose que je lui refusai…  
Je voudrais que la rose fût encore au rosier,  
Et que ma douce amie fût encore à m'aimer.

The song was sad and slow but it was also beautiful 'There all finished' Alex said once the bandage was wrapped tightly around Porthos arm. 'That song, what's is it ?'. 'It's an old lullaby that my mother used to sing to me before she….before she died.' 'A la claire fontaine, she used to call it.' Alex smiled and Porthos couldn't help but smile back. 'You should get some rest, it's late and you look tired.' At this she grabbed a blanket and draped it around his shoulders. Slowly Porthos let sleep take him and he slipped into oblivion.

* * *

That was the first time Porthos met her. The next morning he had left and joined up with Flea and Charon again but he had never stopped thinking about this mysterious girl. Though he tried many times Porthos had never found her home again but he didn't have to, as she would always find him. During his time growing up in the Court Alex taught him many things that he couldn't have learnt on the streets of Paris. One time she took him out of Paris and to the woods surrounding it.

There she taught him the art of hunting using a bow and arrow as well as how to skin and gut animals. It was from her that he had learnt how to make a meal out of the simplest of things you could find in wood. She had also shown him that you did have to steal to get by. Although she kept some of the prey she killed, she sold the rest and bought supplies such a furs and water skins. Porthos never really got the hang of learning medicine but whenever he was injured Alex would fix him up and make him better and at night in the woods when the darkness and openness was getting to him, she would sing her lullaby.

When Treville came to invite him to join the musketeers Flea and Charon negativity had almost persuaded him to not to accept the offer but Alex had told him that it was a once in a life time opportunity to do some good in the world. She had stood by him and his decision to leave and had even accompanied him the barracks, promising that she would visit him every once in a while but once they had waved goodbye Porthos never saw her again. Until now.

'Alex' gently he brought his hand to her cheek, 'what happened?' Sighing, she took a deep breath whilst taking hold of his hand. 'Not long after I left you I was hunting in the woods when I was ambushed by Kiron and his men and they brought me here. I have been a prisoner here ever since'. 'Why didn't you try and escape?' She let out an exasperated cry. 'You don't think I didn't try! Kiron would just send the dogs after me and eventually I would be brought back kicking and screaming and then I would be punished'. At this she indicated to and old burn mark on her shoulder. Porthos felt rage building up inside him. How dare Kiron treat her like this, like a slave! 'I'm sorry Porthos, I …I have to go.' Quickly she squeezed his hand and let it drop. Hurriedly she gathered up and made her way to the door. 'Alex' she stopped and turned back to look at him. 'We will get out of here, I promise.' She nods and he saw a flash of hope in her eyes before she turned and quickly left.

* * *

**À la claire fontaine**

By the clear fountain, going for a walk  
I found the water so clear I had to bathe.  
Under the oak's leaves, I lay and dried.  
On the highest bough, a nightingale sang.  
Sing, nightingale, sing, you of the joyous heart.  
Your heart is to laugh, mine is to cry.  
I lost my friend, which I didn't deserve,  
To a rosebud I kept from her...  
Were the rose still on the bush,  
And my friend still loving me.


End file.
